


Pudding King

by phene



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - King Tom, M/M, Pudding, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phene/pseuds/phene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is a fussy king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pudding King

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote some AU for gingerthomas on tumblr. I hope you like it.  
> *Self-edited because I don't have a beta. Mistakes are all my own and my phone's fault.

The king was insatiable. He only ate the finest deserts, his favorite being pudding. But, alas, as the ruthless king of nearly all the kingdoms, he had this greedy desire for more. And always more. He could not be sated by just any desert, nor by any person. He had jesters tossed into a pit, harpists strung up by their own instrument’s wire. He was cruel. It was not his fault, of course. His forever rumbling belly was to blame. It made him so anxious and near unable to rule his otherwise peaceful kingdom.

Now, it is said, if you pray hard enough, the thing of your prayers could come true. So, Tom’s first servant, Chris was his name, prayed endlessly as he was bitched around by the slender brute. He could not sate his king, so he prayed for someone who could in any way. His prayer finally came true after half a decade of Tom’s terrible reign.

“There’s a guest here for you, sire,” Chris spoke flatly as he went about the main chamber spreading the curtains to let the light dance across on the red silk of the large bed that the lithe man was sprawled out upon.

“I have yet to dress. Let them wait,” Tom moaned into his pillow, clearly drowsy with his all-night attempts at developing a well enough defensive tactic for his armies to practice. He was a king, after all.

"Well, let us get you properly attired then," Chris bit out, poorly hiding the anger in his tone. Tom heard it.

The bronzed head of curls lifted slowly, turning a menacing look towards the servant. Chris did not so much as shiver when the gaze fell upon his back.

"I wish to sleep. Dismissed," the tired king spoke.

Chris sighed. "Tis a man of the finest sweets. Has the most delectable pudding, I heard."

That made Tom scoff.

"There is no proper pudding than that of my old friend, and he is no longer among us. You are dismissed."

Tom spoke grimly of his unknown friend, which would promise a day of the king sheltering himself in his chambers with a book or two.

With something like a growl, Chris yanked the silk from the bed and grabbed hold of the ganky ankles. Tom squawked, flashing wide eyes at his servant. No sooner then he was grabbed was the glinting tip of a crucible sword nestled against the bob of Chris' throat. He didn't dare breathe.

"Unhand me."

"You sleep with a blade, sire?" Chris licked his lips curiously.

Tom bit back a laugh as he twisted his wrist, slicing a small rivulet of blood to dribble down the fuller of his blade.

"Unhand me," he repeated, disgusted by the large hands bound about his ankles.

They stared off.

It lasted long enough until shouting came from outside the large wooden door of the master chamber. There was scuffing and yelling, curses being thrown about, swords clanking on stone, all of it growing evermore close to the chamber. Tom redirected his sword from Chris' throat to the door, though he never lost eye contact.

Finally, the door creaked open.

"Good morning, sire," a deep voice reverberated in the large room. 

Tom waited until Chris chanced himself on stealing a glance towards the door before doing the so himself.

Standing tall, taller than the king but shorter than his servant, a man stood in the doorway with a small, wooden tray in his hands. There was a bowl atop it, and a slender glass of liquor, it seemed. The man had waves of long black curls brushed back in an eloquent manner with a sharply cut face. He had a perfect smile with his frosty green eyes that could make any man cower is fear. He looked rigid, cold and unforgiving, yet smooth and confident. 

Tom smirked at the man set before him wickedly. 

"Who might you be?" Chris asked with a certain unbelievable amount of calmness.

"The 'guest'. I grew tired of waiting, so I thought you may enjoy a little snack in bed, sire." The whole while, he talked directly to Tom with this overflowing amount of confidence that was striking considering how frightening Tom was, especially when prodded and pushed.

"Do not spill my drink," Tom nodded in gesture to the door with a a quirk of his brow. 

The tall, raven haired man ducked swiftly with a cat-like smile as the shimmer of a well honed blade swung through the air. He spun about while in a crouch and came up with a kick to the attacking guards chest. The clunk of armor clattered on the ground followed by murmuring outside. Soon, three more guards hoarded the door.

The chef had taken a step back into the room, balancing on one heel as he eyed the men up and down.

"I am simply a chef. There is no need for this ruckus," he mused with a curling grin.

The guards all grunted and lunged.

"Enough!" Chris hollered, bellowing throughout the room.

The guards fell short but stuck their blades against the chef's chest, tearing the cotton and pricking his skin beneath.

"That is enough," Tom chuckled, carefully eyeing the chef's back as he sheathed his sword by the post. "Now," he took the silk back from Chris and draped it over his exposed body up to his hips, "I do believe it is time for a snack. Come, chef." He patted the bed invitingly.

"As you wish," the chef hummed, sliding back smoothly and spinning at the edge of the bed. He bent perfectly at the waist, presenting the tray to the king. Not a drop was spilt or a utensil dropped.

"What is this?" Tom wrinkled his nose.

"Why," the stranger purred, placing a knee on the bed and inching closer, "it is a silken blend of richest cocoa topped with a swirl of freshly whipped creme. I thought some fruit would go nicely diced on the side, but damn me for getting lost in this monstrous place while trying to locate your kitchen." By now, the stranger was sat beside the king, the tray rest on his folded leg. He had one hand to the king's back, another on the spoon laid out beside the bowl of pudding.

"I hear you are a very picky eater," the chef taunted, picking up the spoon and swirling it into the creme and pudding.

"And if I am?" the king amused his guest.

"Well, we will just have to do something about it then," the raven purred once more, now against Tom's ear as he turned his head from the tray. He produced a perfectly portioned spoonful of the snack and brought it to Tom's lips.

With a smug glance at Chris who was stuck silent at the end of the bed, Tom flicked his tongue out and tasted the creme first. The sound he made when it flowed over his tongue was sinful.

"What if it was poison?" Chris droned, eyes never leaving the stranger.

"Now, now, Benedict would never commit such a heinous act. Would you, Benny?" Tom glanced at the stranger fondly, quirking a small, familiar smile.

"Hush, my king. You need to eat. I fear you may kill many more citizens if this tantrum of yours continues."

"Tantrum?" Tom hissed, though his smile never faded.

"Eat," Benedict cooed, sliding the edge of the spoon along Tom's lower lip, smearing the light brown pudding. 

The king's questions were silenced. Tom exhaled deeply and parted his lips, allowing the pudding to be spooned onto his tongue. He let out this groan of pure pleasure, racking his entire body with a shiver that could be accounted for nothing other than just that. He eagerly looked to Benedict for another bite. He was rewarded as so for the look of pure desire swimming in his eyes.

A few bites in, the room heavy with Tom's luscious sounds and Benedict's hushed praise, Chris cleared his throat. Neither man on the bed was phased, simply engrossed in one another.

"Clear out," he called, and followed the men into the hall. The large door shut behind them and the king was left alone with his guest.

"It seems you have not forgotten me," Benedict finally spoke as he flipped a smudge of pudding along Tom's upper lip just to see the little tongue dart out to catch every dribble.

"My dearest friend, the best fighter and chef in the garrison," Tom mused, tracing his lips again and again with his tongue though there was no trace of pudding there.

"Mh, my dearest General, now king. You have become such a man," Benedict continued with a light tone of praise.

"An angry man. A sad man. I was told you were deceased," Tom huffed, a pouted forming on his lips. Of course, in a time when he should feel anger, he felt pain.

"I wrote you letters. I worked for you in your armies as a combat adviser. I did my best to please you, yet you could not bring me home, dear," Benedict scolded lightly.

Tom's pouted increased.

"I was unaware. You were dead, Benedict. And of those letters, I thought it a prank, a sick jest."

"So, you did not find comfort in my words, how I wished to feel your skin just once more, to have your voice brush my ears, all so I could be with you again?"

Tom remained silent, only opening his mouth to welcome the pudding.

"It matters not. I am here now, and I have pudding. I'm sure you can forgive me over time, as I am not going anywhere," Benedict informed matter-of-factly.

"Could you ever forgive me, though?" Tom asked in the meekest of voices.

Benedict just laughed heartily. He set the spoon aside - the pudding nearly gone - and took up the glass of honey colored liquor, much the same as Tom's curls. He tipped the glass against his lips and closed his eyes to the burning taste on his tongue. With a swift and equally suave move, his lips were pressed to Tom's, the liquid being passed between them. He carefully had a hand to Tom's cheek, stroking the sharp bone with his thumb and easing the fiery king in ways no one else could. 

Tom had the liquor with a harsh gulp before delving into Benedict's kiss. His hands slithered from the silk to the grey-colored trousers Benedict was doning quite wonderfully. He curled his fingers about the taut muscle of Benedict's thigh, nails biting, sussing a shallow cry from the chef.

Benedict retaliated as equally, pushing the empty glass and tray aside to force Tom down against his pillows. He gave a laugh when Tom bounced against the plush down, ending up with this blank stare as he was overpowered and pinned like prey.

"Are you aware that you are quite the sight, my king?" Benedict crooned, a soft pant on his tongue as he looked the naked body over.

"You are the only one to ever appreciate me as such," Tom informed while catching his breath.

Benedict just made a small scoffing sound and placed a tentative kiss on Tom's lips. He tasted of pudding and power, which was absolutely addicting. He dipped his kisses down along Tom's cheek and jaw, finding his long neck and nibbling on the supple skin there. His hands drew up from the decedent silk to find Tom's thighs exposed and as soft as he could have wished to remember. He playfully swirled his thumbs against the trained muscles all the way up to the groin, veering off to the hips so he could massage the peaks of the sensitive bones.

Tom resorted to keening beneath him, breathy little pants curling off his lips as he resisted the urge to writhe. Benedict always did cursed things to his body, made his head swim, and this was no different. There was something in that pudding, he knows it, an agent that reacted with the liqour Benedict slipped down his throat and made his entire body tingle. A drug, a sweet drug that Benedict himself had concocted in the old days.

"You do not  have to drug me," Tom sighed shallowly. He caught his tongue on a moan as his head tilted back and his body quaked with his increasing sensitivity to each and every little touch Benedict gave him. 

"You know it is nothing of the such," Benedict snickered, gradually stroking Tom's thighs and hips, kissing down his neck to his chest. "It simply stimulates the senses, especially the sense of touch. Do you not feel me?" he asked with the slightest groan hindering his words. As he spoke, he settled himself between Tom's slowly spreading legs, grinding up against the hard curve of Tom's prick.

Tom whimpered in response, quickly fisting his hands in Benedict's luscious locks of dark hair.

Benedict's lips continued their torture, mouthing over Tom's nipple carefully and rolling it with expert ease that had the powerful king in shambles. He licked and nibbled on it lightly, mindful of his roughness due to his use of the drug. Still, Tom always loved his chest played with. Benedict limited himself to keeping his hands at Tom's hips, still kneading the skin there and slowly migrating back to the pert globes of the arse he once adored. He shifted to the other nipple once the first turned a rosy flush from the attention. As he pampered the other, he allowed his hands to slide back along Tom's arse, to which Tom bowed his back and let the hands under him. He grabbed in earnest, fondling the cheeks and groping Tom to a fit of trembling moans.

When Benedict went to slip his fingers between the plump cheeks, he was checked with a flush of anger.

"Who has been here?" he growled, fingering through a slick sheen coating Tom's hole.

Tom moaned over his answer, only making Benedict grip him frighteningly tight. 

"Tell me, what is that servant?" he only tried his second best to keep the fire burning inside of him in check.

"Don't be such a knob," Tom mocked while working his arse down on Benedict's hands, "I was the one fondling your precious ass. I have been lonely."

Benedict paused for a brief moment, his anger boiling down to arousal quickly.

"Then I may just take you?" he asked with a bit more finesse, a tiny bit of sorrow on his tongue in apology.

"I can not think to a single damn reason why you have not," Tom bit, giving Benedict one of his vicious king glares.

Benedict grinned devilishly at the realization. His face went back to Tom's neck, peppering it in kisses before finding the sweet lips once more. They delved into a kiss, a soft drag of lip over lip and tongue over tongue, prodding and exploring what they had so long been without. Meanwhile, Benedict worked his hands against Tom's arse, temptingly thrusting a finger into the wet, tight heat of his king's body. It went without much of any resistance. The warm body was so welcoming, and the feeling of being inside it so foreign that Benedict could hardly wait.

Luckily, neither could Tom. He went about unbuckling Benedict's trousers and shoving them down his thighs. His hands went to Benedict's arse next, groping the muscle that could only be achieved by years of combat. But, years if combat left muh more behind than muscle. 

"Your scar," Tom hushed while drifting a hand up Benedict's back, feeling along the sharp curve of a sword wound.

Benedict hummed in agreeance, occupied with kissing the moving lips and shoving his trousers the rest of the way off.

"You got it because of me," Tom laughed solemnly, halting the kiss.

Benedict chewed his lip with a drawn brow.

"Yes and - hands please," he asked while peeling his shirt over his wild head of hair, "-I would do it infinity times over just to keep you safe. Now. Bring those exquisite lips back here," Benedict cooed to Tom's cheek, tilting his face up with a thumb to his chin. 

Tom put his hands back to Benedict's arse, feeling it tense as Benedict shifted above him and dropped staccato kisses on his lips. Once the man was poised between his legs, he canted his hips and let loose this hot moan against Benedict's lips as the hard jut of his friend's cock slid across his slick hole. 

"Hold onto me," Benedict instructed. 

Tom nodded eagerly, moving his hands up and wrapping his arms tight about Benedict's midsection. Benedict braced one forearm across the pillows and reached down between them so he could line up with the other hand. 

"Ready?" he hushed against Tom's kiss. 

"And waiting," Tom quipped. 

Benedict rolled his hips forward in one quick, fluid motion. He let this sweet, deep groan hang on his lips as Tom mewled and squeezed his eyes tight in pain. 

"Keep your hips up - oh, you're rusty," Benedict kindly noted. 

He did, however, slide his free arm along the small of Tom's back for support. 

"Just do it," Tom clearly ordered. 

"As you wish." 

The next thrust was slower, testing the extent to which Tom toyed with himself. Pretty thoroughly, it seemed. When Benedict was pulled free till just the tip was snug away, he felt Tom's body writhe and roll against his own, eager from the years apart. Benedict answered his king with a shallow thrust, rocking his hips back and forth, sliding into the slick heat of the perfectly tight body over and over until it was hard to stop. The strokes became longer, harder as Benedict felt Tom clenching and trembling from the overdue attention. He kept a steady pace that rocked their bodies on the bed, made it groan beneath their weight with each jerk. Tom was pressed to his chest, panting as he raked sharp nails in uneven lines down Benedict's spine. He was breaking. 

Tom let himself drown in the sensations. Benedict's kisses were still on his lips, creating this circuit of smoldering pleasure jolting from each thrust to their kiss then back again. It drew the very breath from him. The most he could do was gasp for a break and work against Benedict, driving each jerk harder and deeper, swallowing up the swollen cock with ease. Benedict had never felt this big, he knew for a fact, but was hardly considering questioning it. What's more, the man was too skilled for his own good. It only took a few adjustments to find Tom's prostate, which went on to be abused spontaneously so the cries Tom made were the sweetest. The king just went with the movements, suffocated by it all as he let Benedict hold him tight and kiss the remainder of his breath away. He was a goner as soon as Benedict swore against the corner of his mouth.

"I missed you, love."

A scream tore from Tom's lips as he came, which was much sooner than he would have liked. Benedict's kiss fled to his neck, bit hard and fast to make a visible claim. The thrusts never ceased, rode him through his climax until Benedict followed, tightening up and loosing his voice in a shallow gasp as he spilled out inside of Tom. His dark head was thrown back, entire body taut as he pushed as hard as he could. 

They took a moment tangled together before Benedict lifted his head and stole a kiss to Tom's cheek. 

"I hope the meal was sufficient," he murmured and withdrew, leaving Tom's hole puffy and rosy pink, clenching and raw as small dribbles of Benedict's cum spilled out of his body. 

"More than just," Tom mewled, eyes lidded and a soft smile forming as he eyed the chef. 

"I think I may still be hungry," Benedict grinned. 

Tom bit his lip in question, quirking his brow. 

Benedict stole a quick kiss before slipping between the shaking, thin legs. His head dipped and Tom never mistook the feel of his tongue dragging along the curve of his ass. 

"B-Benedict!" 

His legs went in the air and his hands to the unruly black curls. 

They barely made it in time for dinner that evening. 

**Author's Note:**

> Should I do more on this? Like their days fighting together?


End file.
